


keep all good company

by foundthesun



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Affection, Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Deleted Scenes, Emotionally Repressed, Extended Scene, Gift Giving, Historical, Hot Chocolate, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pre-Relationship, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 15:54:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20010895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundthesun/pseuds/foundthesun
Summary: After a close call that nearly sees him whisked away to be reassigned, Aziraphale is left in his new bookshop wondering just what in the heavens just happened.The reason for Gabriel's hasty retreat, he soon realizes, also comes bearing an unexpected gift for him.Or: An angel and a demon have the first of many meetings tucked away in a bookshop that would become important to both of them.





	keep all good company

**Author's Note:**

> I've come out of writing this fic with the knowledge that chocolates are still kind of a big deal in 1800, actually, and the idea of mixing milk and chocolate into a drink was only introduced in England a few years prior (though milk chocolate _bars_ wouldn't be a thing for another 75 or so years).
> 
> The more you know, huh?
> 
> **This story is directly following[this particular deleted scene](https://221blilli.tumblr.com/post/185506986009/im-not-saying-that-we-were-robbed-im-just) from the _Good Omens_ script book, which you might want to read if you haven't to fully understand this extended scene fic.**
> 
> I tried my best to be historically accurate (the amount of double checking myself for a 3k fic is officially why I generally don't write historical fic LOL), apologies if I mucked something up. Effort was made, I promise.

Aziraphale finds himself struck dumb by the day’s events. What had started as a nightmare scenario for him has suddenly and dramatically changed – Gabriel’s gone, Sandalphon’s gone, and all the talk of him being promoted up is gone, too. The very idea of it had sent a cold dread through him, an aversion so strong that even he finds himself surprised at it. His gaze scans the shop around him silently, shelves still awaiting being filled to the brim by the books he’s collected over the years. The thought of nearly being forced to leave this behind is more overwhelming than he thinks is appropriate, but the feeling’s there all the same.

_I can’t imagine why anyone would want to spend five minutes longer in this world than they had to_ , Sandalphon had sneered.

Did they think so little of the world She created? Wasn’t there something wrong with that? Was there something wrong with _him_ that it's so diametrically opposite to how he sees things? It’s a dangerous line of thought, one he doesn’t let go further than the initial twist in his gut when he recognizes he's being too questioning, maybe. Still, it’s hard not to feel like a coward, one who couldn’t say a word edgewise to the plans being put upon him. He tries his best to remind himself it doesn't matter, not really, because he’s still being allowed to stay, right?

_Somehow_. What just happened? That’s what mystery he opts to focus on rather than the vague sensation of discontent he feels trying to seed doubt into him. Between the time he left to get his new suit and the time he returned, Gabriel went from being convinced _anyone_ could take his position to the complete opposite.

_Carry on battling_ , he had even encouraged, as though, as though -

“Mister Crowley,” he hears something hiss behind him, startling him out of his thoughts. He spins and finds Crowley suddenly there, leaning against his new oak desk, a smirk curled dangerously upwards on his face and a vaguely familiar box still clasped in his hand. Before Aziraphale can get a word in edgewise, he continues, voice low and gravely and over-the-top evil-sounding, “The angel Aziraphale is being sent back to heaven, let’s all be bloody _joyful_ , for _nothing_ can stop us now.”

Aziraphale stares at him, confused. Crowley says nothing, letting the angel connect the dots that are in front of him. It takes a minute, and a rush of breath escapes him when it all clicks in his mind.

“ _You_. You did this,” he realizes. Of course. _Of course_. The grin on Crowley’s face widens even further.

You missed a performance of a lifetime, angel,” he boasts, doing a dramatic bow for effect. “Showed up the best theatre has to offer. Got a look at him scurrying off, you know. His face, you should’ve seen it -“

“Crowley, really,” he tuts, barely – just _barely_ – suppressing a smile at his antics. His counterpart makes it so very difficult behave, though that’s no real surprise to him any longer.

There’s a pause in his laughter at that reply as he stops long enough to study Aziraphale’s face. The angel can feel a sudden shift in his demeanor he isn’t quite expecting, and he doesn’t realize he’d just taken the reply as an actual chastisement until Crowley asks, “You – you didn’t actually want to _go_ back, did you?”

Aziraphale feels like he ought to be worried the thought had not crossed the demon’s mind until that moment. Was his distaste at the whole idea of returning so obvious? It hadn’t even been just the thought of leaving the world behind, either. Seeing him in the door frame earlier had all at once made him realize he might never see Crowley again, and it had hurt just as much as the idea they were about to take this beautiful shop and make it in to – make it into a _base_ for someone who would _never_ appreciate it like he already does. It would’ve been dreadful in ways it shouldn’t have mattered at all. And _yet_ –

He sighs, deciding it’s not worth dwelling on. Easier to focus on the task at hand. Crowley had gone through a lot of trouble for him, and he deserves an actual answer, one that left no doubt.

“My place is here,” he replies, simply, gaze flicking up to look catch his. “Thwarting _you_ , apparently.”

He takes a step closer after he speaks, much to Crowley’s clear surprise, reaching up and fixing the lapels of his jet-black coat. It’s an affectionate gesture he allows himself to make, one that gets him close enough to do what he wants to do next.

“Thank you,” he adds in a murmur, stepping back only when he sees Crowley’s eyebrows lift in recognition of the words. He smiles pleasantly after, as though he hadn’t done anything at all, leaving the demon looking a bit off-kilter. That he’d managed to cause that sort of response does things to him he refuses to recognize as happening. “I apologize for whatever you overheard me say about you. Had to keep up appearances, you understand, surely.”

“Wuh – oh,” Crowley blinks, seemingly startled out of his thoughts. He seems to gain his footing again, his smile returning. “I heard enough. Cunning and brilliant were highlights.”

Aziraphale winces at that. He’d hoped he disappeared from the doorway before they’d gotten to that point, but no, apparently, he’d lingered longer than he thought. He considers denying it outright but decides against it with a sigh. “Yes, well, er – you – you had something for me, didn’t you?”

It’s changing the subject on purpose, certainly, but it’s not like he isn’t curious. Crowley had been waving it around when he came in, looking by all accounts proud of it. Faced with handing it over, there’s a clear pause before he takes a step closer.

“Chocolates. For finally getting around to opening your shop,” he explains, casually, holding the box out to him. Despite having an even tone, Aziraphale can’t quite help but notice he’s actively not looking at him. “Found out about a place in Berlin when I was out doing some tempting in the area. I’ve heard enough of you raving about the stuff that’s sold here that I thought you'd be interested in trying something different. One of the brothers even mentioned they could be made into a drink?”

Aziraphale holds the box carefully, staring down at it as he explains. A warmth spreads in him that’s impossible to ignore, especially when the demon notes the few times he’d talked about the treat to him. It’d be a lie if he didn’t say there were moments he wondered if Crowley _truly_ listened to him or if he was just especially good at acting like he did to get what he wanted. It’s hard to ignore the proof in his face now because despite having very little interest in food himself, he obviously listened to him prattle on regardless.

It…feels nice. To be heard. Especially so soon after a reminder of how it feels to not be heard at all, because Gabriel and Sandalphon had certainly not cared one bit about what he wanted. Looking up at Crowley, he finds him badly attempting to conceal apprehension. For all his flippancy, he truly seems to care whether or not he likes the gift. It takes every ounce of willpower in him not to reach out then and there – the urge to hug is there, or even to briefly touch his cheek. It’s one he’s had to fight against more recently.

“Oh. Why, this is very – Crowley, I -“ he tries to start, stumbling over his words and eventually trailing off, not able to find a way to explain what he’s feeling without it being _too much_. He attempts again after a moment, smile warm and broad and hopefully showing how he feels far more than anything he can say. “My dear, this is _wonderful_.”

There’s a part of him that fears maybe even _that’s_ too much, readies for the immediate backlash of warning of going too far, of _what-ifs_ , but there are none. There’s just Crowley’s expression brightening, the look on his face is devoid of the sharp edges it usually has. He’s happy, genuinely so, in a way that’s so rare and so lovely to see.

There’s that itch to touch again. Aziraphale swallows, feeling noticeably flustered at it, and grips the box a little tighter.

“Making it into a drink is a good idea. I’ve heard there's a marvelous recipe that involves milk, of all things, now,” the angel adds, an idea of invitation suddenly coming to mind. He doesn’t give himself overthink it. “Er, there’s still quite a bit to do today, but if you come around later tonight, perhaps you can try it too? I know you’re not a fan of sweets, but it’s truly not too bad, so I do think you might - only if you want to, of course –“

Before he can continue, Crowley puts a hand up to silence him. Aziraphale silences at the gesture, by all accounts looking a bit sheepish at his rambling. “Bit after dusk, then?”

A yes. He’d dangled the suggestion and he’d said yes. He doesn’t bother hiding the relief that he knows crosses his face when it dawns on him he’s gotten the answer he wants. “Yes! Excellent. That should be more than enough time for what needs to be done.”

It’s a lie, but a small one. There's far too much to finish in one afternoon - paperwork to complete, books to be put upon shelves. He'll just work harder than he expected this afternoon, he decides. The extra effort for this feels worth it.

Besides, it’s not as though he needs sleep, after all.

* * *

“So,” Crowley announces, sitting forward in his stool. “Let’s see it.”

Aziraphale barely notices the sudden request being thrown at him, too busy savoring the drink he’s currently cradling in his hands. This milk-chocolate idea is as heavenly as he’d been told, the effort to put it together with the chocolates that Crowley had gotten him certainly worth it. He can see what the fuss is about now, especially when he went through the effort of warming it as well.

“Mm?” he asks, looking over at the slouching demon across from him. There’s the slightest knowing smirk lifted on his face that Aziraphale reads as smug in the face of him clearly enjoying his gift. “Er, see what?”

Crowley pauses to take a sip of his own. He doesn’t grimace at it, which feels like a victory in itself.

“The commendation. Let’s see it,” Crowley replies once he puts the cup down on the desk, motioning. Aziraphale raises a brow suspiciously.

“Why?”

“Just want to,” he shrugs. It’s an answer Aziraphale believes, though he supposes it doesn’t matter even if he does have some unspoken ulterior motive for wanting to have a look at it. He turns and retrieves the plain box he’d put it in and stuffed into one corner of his desk earlier, opens it up, and pulls the thing out. He dangles it in front of Crowley, the silver-colored metal gleaming brilliantly in the candlelight that was illuminating the area.

“Woo-ee,” Crowley whistles appreciatively, eyeballing it with a thoughtful look. “Pretty fancy, angel. Glowing and everything.”

“Indeed,” Aziraphale sighs, glancing down at it with a distasteful look he doesn’t try to hide, not around him. “It’s – it’s a bit gaudy, isn’t it?”

Crowley huffs out a surprised laugh, looking positively _gleeful_ he’s not impressed by it. Aziraphale can’t shake the unenthusiastic feeling he has about it, no matter how much he’s been trying to – there’d been a time where all of this would’ve been a grand honor, something he would’ve strove for. Positive attention from the people Above. Proof he’s doing good work after all that mess at Eden. Somewhere along the way, all the business with keeping the head office happy became simply a focus he needs to accomplish to keep his head above water and little else.

“What’d they give you it for, anyway?” Crowley prods, still looking but not touching. Probably for the best, Aziraphale isn’t entirely sure it wouldn’t burn him. He frowns at the very thought of the demon accidentally hurting himself and opts at that point to put it away carefully. He’d gotten his look, after all.

“Overall satisfaction of what I’ve been doing down here,” he shrugs. Maybe that’s the problem – the lack of any concrete reason he’d been given the medal certainly isn’t helping. Crowley had gotten one for something specific. If he’d asked Gabriel for one solitary thing he’d done that he was pleased with, would he even be able to? His reports in were always met with bored, polite praise usually – something that makes ever so much more sense now that he’s heard what he feels like is the general view of the world he’s overseeing. “I cannot even begin to imagine what they would’ve wanted me to do up in the head office that they felt as though it was time to pull me away now.”

_It would’ve been dreadful_ , he thinks but does not say. There’s something about openly rejecting the idea of leaving here that feels borderline too far. He thinks Crowley can read him anyway, or at least can make a solid guess after him thanking him earlier that he had no interest in what his new job would’ve been.

“Nothing that’d let you make this.” Crowley points out, nodding to the drink he’s just reached over to pick up again. Aziraphale makes a noise of agreement as he takes another sip of his own cup.

“I’m just still surprised you got yourself involved,” he admits, eying the demon as he says it. It’s becoming a bit of a running thing between them, isn’t it – Paris had not been so long ago, in the grand scheme of the time they’ve known each other.

“You heard who they were planning on sending down in your place,” Crowley replies, airily, waving off what he likely thinks is approaching a _thank you_. “Michael’s the worst of you lot if you ask me. All high and mighty and sneering. We’ve – we’ve got a good thing going, you and me. Keeping things in line. Balanced, like.”

The Arrangement, he means. Maybe that, too, is why the medal feels hollow – they’d focused so hard on his so-called battle against his ‘adversary' instead of his deeds, not noticing that ‘battle’ has been a purposeful stalemate for nearly a century now. His reports that surely drew their attention enough to earn him a medal are peppered by things Crowley himself did, even. It’s not the first time he finds himself in a strange place of feeling like he’s doing the right thing, that Crowley is _different_ and things have been so much better now with this loose alliance they have going, while also knowing such things would be considered traitorous if he ever revealed them.

He stares at Crowley for a long moment, this demon who has now saved him twice in a little over ten years from fates that he had little control over getting out of otherwise. For not the first time, he finds himself wondering if he struggles with the same frustration.

“It almost sounds like you like me,” he suddenly echoes Gabriel’s words to him now, emboldened by what feels like the first safe place they’ve ever truly found themselves in to speak, squirreled away from the world in the back of this shop that already feels like home. There’s less room here for prying ears and eyes, surely.

There’s a line being toed again. One he’s stepped close to before, certainly, and one he finds himself stepping towards more lately. Crowley seems to freeze in the face of it, silent for more than a few beats. It’s rare for him not to have a quip – he’s caught him off guard, he thinks.

“At worst, you’ve been a thorn in my side, angel,” he settles on, though Aziraphale swears there’s a sudden tension to his gait, a noticeable redness to his cheeks. “Michael’s closer to a poisoned dagger. Not exactly the type I’d take invitations of drinks after dusk with. Doesn’t strike me much of a chocolate fan, either.”

It would’ve made things so much simpler if Crowley had explained it all away as a self-motivated decision. It would’ve hurt, too, but the sort of hurt he has a feeling would be a good reminder for him to keep himself in check. No such luck, unfortunately - his answer isn’t so simple, the last bit hinting at something closer to a truth he won’t speak and Aziraphale knows he shares: the two of them get along in all the ways he knows they _shouldn’t_.

“At least you two have that in common,” Aziraphale teases in a gentle sort of way. Crowley looks just a little guilty at it being pointed out regardless.

“What? I like it all right,” he bald-faced lies, not even attempting to hide the fact he’s only drank a fraction of a cup.

There’s a fond smile on the angel’s face now. “Thank you for humoring me, dear.”

Crowley seems relieved, somewhat, when it’s clear he’s not offended in the slightest. Nothing’s farther from the truth.

“More important you like it, anyway,” he points out, motioning over. “Didn’t get the chocolates for me.”

That’s an invitation to be enthusiastic if he’s ever heard one. “It’s _exquisite_. The humans are calling this particular way of serving it 'the drink of the gods', you know.”

“Well, no wonder I’ve no interest,” Crowley drawls, as though that simply just explained everything.

Aziraphale snorts, rolling his eyes. “Yes, quite. I should’ve guessed.”

“Waste of a good cup, really.”

“Not a waste in the least,” he counters, certainly not wanting Crowley to convince himself that would ever be what he’d think of the night. He’d known the likely outcome of his opinion on the drink from the get-go, it’d just been – it’d been an easy reason to extend an invitation for a night he can now see he needed. The whole business earlier had rattled him more than he realized. “I’m glad you came. Ought to come around more often, even.”

Crowley seems to turn the suggestion over his head when it’s put in front of him. For as irreverent as he normally is about things, Aziraphale knows he’s got far better a mind to keep this _thing_ between them entirely between them for their own safety. “…Seems bold of you to offer.”

“Bold, but not without merit. This bookshop is far better than trying to hide among crowds and taverns all the time, don’t you think?” he points out, voicing what he knows he’s been working out in his own mind about the subject today. There’s more control here. Not entire control, but the best they’ll probably get. “If we’re going to continue – _you know_ – this place is another option now.”

To think there’d been a time he argued against what they were doing. The bookshop hadn’t been an idea that came to him specifically for _these_ sorts of meetings, but it’s suddenly seeming more and more like an actual option now. Gabriel’s timing earlier and his clear lack of knowledge he had even been making this place at all felt like a _sign_.

“I’ll certainly not say no to an offer of being entertained _privately_ ,” Crowley impishly concedes, his casual tone a sharp contrast to the positively suggestive sort of look he throws his way. “Wine next time, though, if you don’t mind. Maybe a more comfortable seat than this, too.”

Aziraphale balks at how he’s decided to take his offer, words coming out in a hurried, flustered rush, “Now see here, you know I didn’t mean it like _that_ –“

He stops when he realizes Crowley is pitched forward a little, sides shaking from laughter. He glowers at the demon, though it has little actual effect on him. His smile never drops, not even when he sits up and sees it.

“On that note, I think I'll take my leave. I won’t be a stranger,” he announces as he stands up, clearly feeling like his job is officially done here for now. He winks his way before turning, lifting a hand in goodbye. “See you around, angel.”

Still flustered and tongue-tied, Aziraphale doesn’t manage a single word in response as he watches the demon saunter out.

* * *

A commission for a far more expensive piece of seating – its cushion filled with feathers – is put in the next morning. Aziraphale convinces himself it’s something the shop needs not because of Crowley’s request, but simply because it brings an air of _nobility_ to the place. A month passes before the demon shows up again, wine bottle in hand, and takes no time flopping onto the new furniture and getting comfortable. There’s no comment, but he seems to like it, seems to approve.

(And Aziraphale is quietly _glad_.)

**Author's Note:**

> Look up the Josty brothers if you're curious about the duo Crowley visited. They started selling chocolate in 1792 that was by all accounts Pretty Good.
> 
> Thanks in advance for any kind words or kudos, as always. This fandom has been so wonderfully supportive.
> 
> Come talk fan things with me on my [tumblr](https://gottanerdout.tumblr.com/) or my [twitter](https://twitter.com/gottageekout)! I do take prompts in my ask box. :)


End file.
